


Cinderella of Sorts

by dreamingseventeen



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, F/M, Fluff, This is an emotional rollercoaster and it's only the first chapter, You might cry sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-02-28 20:59:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18764110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamingseventeen/pseuds/dreamingseventeen
Summary: A servant girl's change in position puts Prince Wonwoo in a bit of an unsettled state. (Prince!Wonwoo x Servant!Reader)





	1. Pusillanimous

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is a four-chapter work originally posted on my tumblr in August of 2017. It has been by far my most popular work, and was an absolute delight to write. I hope you enjoy!

“Back straighter!” The woman barked at you from behind. “If I see even the least bit of slouching, I’ll add another hour.”

“Yes, Lady Margaret,” you responded instinctively. There was a dull pain at the bottom of your spine from the endless time you had put in to your new training as a personal servant. Lady Margaret, the harsh noblewoman whose sole job was to break the resolve of rebellious servants, had chosen you to become Prince Wonwoo’s personal hand. In those moments, you even longed to be back slaving away in the kitchens. But those thoughts came in passing as you were afraid to focus on anything but the teetering books atop your head.

“You have one week until Sir Richard officially retires and then you will be Prince Wonwoo’s sole confidant,” she repeated. Poor Sir Richard, you thought. He’s been the prince’s teacher and butler since before I can remember, but now he is too senile to button up a waistcoat. “I expect you to not disappoint me.”

“Of course not, Lady Margaret.” Your legs were going numb for sitting absolutely still in the throne-like chair you had been forced into and the dress’s countless layers itched at your already irritated skin. You didn’t dare ask why you had to go through the same training as a noblewoman, seeing as the most you had ever done was served food to the royals, and your future job only really entailed dressing and following the prince around like a miserable puppy. A part of you appreciated being a kitchen maid, but your pay and status were going to be better, so the suffering almost felt worth it. Hopefully you could finally escape the palace after working there since you were a young teenager– all to pay off your family’s debts.

“A prince’s daily dress is in what order?”

“If it is cold, a cotton undershirt that has the same sleeve length as the overshirt is necessary. The overshirt should always be steamed and pressed as to not have a wrinkle, but not be too crisp that it is uncomfortable or unflattering. The prince is allowed to choose his own cufflinks, but is pleased to be gently advised. The prince’s waistcoat or officer’s coat should always be fastened to conceal his overshirt when he is outside his room or unless he specifically requests otherwise. If the prince is going to an official visit or parade, it is necessary that he be wearing his belt, sash, and epaulettes fastened by matching passants.”

Lady Margaret gave you her regular cold smile, but she seemed rather proud. “And his shoes?”

“The prince is allowed to choose, but he must be reminded of common fashion faux pas.”

“Must I be reminded?” A deep voice said from behind you.

You watched Lady Margaret’s eyes widen and would have spun around immediately if not for the delicate tower you were balancing. She stooped into a deep bow and you quickly swiped the books off of your head and placed them on the long table gently, suddenly keenly aware of the heat crawling up your neck and reaching your face. You stood and faced the image of Prince Wonwoo descending the large staircase, the huge window behind him throwing sunlight across his broad shoulders.

“I dare say all of us need be reminded of certain things each day, Your Highness,” you tried to diffuse the tension with a deep bow that matched your instructor’s. You heard Prince Wonwoo chuckle and a deep sigh of relief from Lady Margaret.

“Right you are,” he nodded. Your breath hitched in your throat when he reached the bottom and took calculated steps towards you while you finally garnered the courage to stand up straight. It was a rare moment of seeing Prince Wonwoo alone before you, without being surrounded by councilmen or tailed by Sir Richard. He was breathtaking, you had to admit, especially up close. Even in simple black slacks and a white dress shirt he seemed to be beaming.

“She is the young woman who is to become your personal assistant, Your Highness,” Lady Margaret interjected. “I was simply quizzing her on your daily dress.”

Wonwoo’s wide eyes traveled back to you. “Does my future personal assistant not have a name?”

You bowed quickly. “I’m Y/N, Your Highness. I am a kitchen maid at the moment.”

“Ah, I knew you looked familiar,” he hummed, one side of his mouth tugging upward. “I’ll leave the both of you alone, then,” he concluded, nodding at each of you before you found yourself once again bowing while he disappeared behind one of the many doors in the dining hall. Lady Margaret let out a huff that made her shoulders fly up before falling again. Your heart finally returned to a steady beat and you made a similar sound of solace.

“Disaster avoided,” she cleared her throat. “Well done, Y/N. I believe we’re finished for today.”

Dinner that evening was uniquely awkward. Kitchen servants generally didn’t interact with the royals outside of meal times, and it was strange pouring wine and holding platters for someone you had spoken to just hours earlier. Wonwoo held an odd smile that was distinctly out of character for him throughout the meal.

“That’s enough,” the king held his hand up to you to stop pouring into his tall glass. “What of you, Wonwoo?”

“I’m quite fine. Y/N already took care of me,” Prince Wonwoo held up his glass as evidence. You stepped back from the table and gulped, instantly feeling the king and queen’s eyes on you.

“Oh, forgive me. Lady Margaret introduced me to Y/N earlier. Father, Mother, she is going to be my new personal assistant,” Prince Wonwoo explained, gesturing in your direction.

“Is that so?” The queen sang, looking you up and down. You felt rather self conscious before the royal family in nothing but your bland servant’s dress and holding a bottle of wine that was certainly more valuable than your life’s savings.

You bowed, clutching the bottle harder than what was necessary. “Yes, Your Majesty. I will do my best.”

“Wonderful,” the king chuckled. “Then you must already be acquainted with Sir Richard.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. He has informed me of everything that will pertain to my duties,” you spoke. They nodded in pleasant agreement and you excused yourself back to the kitchens to fetch dessert plates. When you returned, Wonwoo was standing and pushing his chair in. “Your Highness, are you not going to stay for the cake?”

He shook his head decidedly. “I’m going to see Richard’s car off,” he said, his voice wrapped in sadness though you could tell he had tried to hide it. “Goodbye,” was all he uttered before he paced out of the hall, his coat thrown around his shoulders. His parents watched him go with painful gazes, and all at once you felt their simple family dynamic heavily. You couldn’t help but feel a pang at your heart as you imagined Wonwoo having to let go of the man who practically raised him.

“Y/N, you’ll do well for our boy, won’t you?” The queen mumbled absentmindedly.

“Certainly, Your Majesty,” you answered. You bowed and fled to the kitchens where you let out the breath you had been holding. The other servants were fervently washing dishes but you threw off your apron and gathered your skirt in your hands so you could jog to the main hall. When you finally arrived, you saw Prince Wonwoo coming back through the main palace doors, from the darkness into the light. He was looking at his feet and had his hands stuffed into the stiff pockets of his slacks.

“Your Highness,” you called to him, your feet flying across the plush rug. His head snapped up and shocked eyes met yours, and you gave a short bow to him when you were just a few feet apart. “I came to give my apologies that Sir Richard has to leave. Your Highness must have been very attached to him.”

“Indeed,” he murmured. His fingers were fiddling with the cuff of one of his sleeves as he searched your face. “Why you?”

“Pardon?” You asked, your head tilting slightly.

“Why did Lady Margaret choose you?”

You had given the same question extensive thought and still had no answer. “I’m not sure, Your Highness. I promise I will do my best to provide like Sir Richard.”

He looked down at you– you always forgot just how brooding he was– and nodded. “I would hope so. I’ll be off to bed now.” With that, he walked past you, in the direction of the residential wing. One of the guards at the door gave you a shrug. You shook your head in minor disbelief and slowly walked to the servants’s dormitories.

The Saturday’s blue dawn barely lit up your small room in the servants’s wing; you rolled out of bed reluctantly, but padded around getting ready as you had no intention of being late on your first day. You crept past the other soundly sleeping maids, many of whom were grateful they weren’t on breakfast duty. You threw open your wardrobe after brushing your teeth in the communal bathroom, even pressing on some make-up (Lady Margaret’s voice echoed in your head: you will be in the presence of the prince around the clock, after all). New dresses filled the rack, replacing the old maiden outfits you had worked in for years. Your heart swelled at their beautiful simplicity, but a part of you longed for the practical skirts you were used to. Nevertheless, you pulled one off of its hanger and put it on, your hands running over the soft skirt. It had elbow-length, breathable sleeves and its cream skirt fell just below your knees. The feeling of having your hair down was pleasantly unusual, and you had a bounce in your step as you headed to the kitchens to pick up Prince Wonwoo’s breakfast platter.

You carefully ascended the stairs with the silver tray which was weighed down with toast, fruit, and the type of coffee that Sir Richard had described to you in annoying detail. You knocked on Wonwoo’s door softly, one arm balancing the food, and turned the knob when his crisp morning voice said you could come in. You entered, struck by his messy hair and his normally prestigious frame adorned with black silk pajamas. He was sitting on the side of his bed, his long legs slung over the side, and gave you a weak smile as you set his breakfast on a coffee table just a few feet away. “Good morning, Your Highness,” you chirped, walking over to the window and throwing the drapes open. “I do hope you slept well.”

“I did, thank you,” he yawned, wobbling over to an armchair and sinking into it. You threw open the door to his closet and began picking out each aspect of his outfit precisely before laying each piece over the foot board of his huge bed. Finally, you grabbed the polished wood box filled with cufflinks and presented it to him.

“What would you like today, Your Highness?”

His tired eyes scanned the rows intently while he sipped on his coffee. “You pick.”

You raised your brows, but plucked out a pair of silver cuff links with metal that appeared to be tied in shiny knots. You heard Prince Wonwoo chuckle as you returned the case to the closet. “Is something the matter, Your Highness?”

“Not at all. It’s just that those were Richard’s favorites,” he said, more to himself than to you. You felt your chest deflate and busied yourself with selecting a gray waistcoat. “Y/N, this coffee is good,” he changed the subject.

“I’m glad, Your Highness,” you smiled, finally done with the meticulous process of putting an outfit together. “If you don’t mind, it’s time for you to pick some shoes, Your Highness.”

He got up and was suddenly just inches from your face when he playfully asked, “Are you sure you don’t need to remind me of common fashion faux pas?”

It was rude to break the gaze of a royal, but you instantly turned your head in embarrassment. “I apologize for that incident, Your Highness. It was not our intention to insult you.”

“If you don’t wish to insult me,” he stepped around into your field of vision again. “Then call me Wonwoo.”

You were so shocked that you stuttered for several seconds before you finally insisted, “That’s simply not possible, Your Highness.” You intentionally avoided his warm brown irises.

“Why is that?” He inquired, taking another step toward you. “Richard called me Wonwoo.”

“That– that was a very different circumstance,” you stumbled, hurrying over to his foot board and snatching clothes off their hangers in urgency. You could hear him laughing behind you, but you were so red in the face that you couldn’t bear to turn. He stepped in front of the full-body mirror that hung over his closet door and began unbuttoning his pajama shirt, letting it fall from his shoulders. Your eyes were glued to the floor so you weren’t tempted to stare at his bare torso. You helped him button his white dress shirt and light gray waist coat and turned away while he pulled on gray slacks; he stepped into the shiny black shoes he had finally decided on and tugged on a fitted gray sports jacket.

“Bow tie?” You suggested, holding up a black one, which you tied around Prince Wonwoo’s neck after a swift nod from him. You stepped back and admired your work while he fastened his cufflinks.

“I have a luncheon with the prime minister, so I won’t be seeing you until afternoon tea,” he explained. “While I’m away, I would appreciate you dusting my study.”

“Certainly,” you agreed, beginning to make his bed. He popped another strawberry into his mouth and watched you work. The two of you sat in comfortable silence while you went about the room, familiarizing yourself with the space Sir Richard had told you so much about. You grabbed a kerchief from the dresser and Prince Wonwoo watched in a daze as your delicate hands folded it into a neat square before you bashfully slid it into his front pocket. “Perfect.”

You took the mostly empty platter from the table, including the drained coffee cup, and made your way towards the door. With one leg holding it ajar, you called, “Have a good day, Your Highness.”

A flattered smile spread across his face. “You too, Y/N.”

Prince Wonwoo’s study smelled of old parchment and the wood that sat charred in the fireplace. Thick books of laws, poetry, and stories lined each wall with each tall set of shelves presenting a new part of his collection. A thick layer of dust covered every inch of the room, apart from Prince Wonwoo’s tidy desk. You imagined that the prince had kindly refrained from asking Sir Richard to clean in his deteriorating state; you subconsciously smiled at the sweet thought.

You gripped your feather duster, furniture polish, and rags and got to work. Your eyes scanned all of the interesting series that decorated the shelves. A surprised laugh sprang from you when you came across a stack of records that contained Frank Sinatra and Perry Como. “To think Jeon Wonwoo likes easy listening on records,” you said under your breath, sliding a Perry Como record out of its case and carefully setting it on the nearby antique player. The needle glided across the vinyl and you sang along as you cleaned.

Don’t let the stars get in your eyes  
Don’t let the moon break your heart  
Love blooms at night  
In daylight it dies  
Don’t let the stars get in your eyes  
Or keep your heart from me  
For some day I’ll return  
And you know you’re the only one I’ll ever love… 

Hours later, you were finally finished with the meticulous dusting around the spine of each book and you spent the next several hours steaming and pressing Prince Wonwoo’s shirts, another mind-numbing process. You were just hanging the pristine shirts when you looked down at your wristwatch and nearly cursed at the time– three. You hissed to yourself in annoyance and darted out of the room and down the staircase to greet Prince Wonwoo and accompany him to tea with his family and, presumably, some councilmen. He was just coming through the palace doors, waving goodbye to his driver, and you suddenly thought back to the sad farewell of last night but shook it from your mind and smiled at the prince.

“Good afternoon, Y/N,” he greeted you with a bright smile. You grinned back at him and bowed.

“Welcome home, Your Highness,” you said. “You seem to be in a good mood.”

“Policy is going well,” he told you, gesturing that you follow him to the dining room. “Tell me, how miserable were you while dusting today?”

You resisted the urge to laugh. “Not at all. You were very gracious to Sir Richard, Your Highness.”

He busted out with laughter in a way that made your fingertips tingle and cheeks raise up. “Perhaps a little too gracious. Thank you for doing it.”

“There is no need to thank me, Your Highness,” you contended, walking past him so you could hold the door to the dining room open to him. He raised a brow at you and paused his walking.

“There’s always a need.” You could have sworn he winked at you in that moment, but he disappeared past the door frame and you were obligated to follow, regardless of your pounding heart.

“Ah, Father, Mother,” he yelled, much to the surprise of the king and queen. “Good afternoon.”

“Why hello, son,” the king chortled while Prince Wonwoo kissed his mother’s cheek. You pulled out a chair for the prince and slid it back into place before stepping away from the table, like you were used to as a servant. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing in particular. The Prime Minister was in a fine mood and I learned this morning that Y/N is a barista in her own right,” the prince chatted, and you nearly jumped at the sound of your name. You weren’t sure you were ever going to get used to the royal family speaking of you so much.

“How lovely,” the queen said, her warm eyes finding yours. “So you’re getting on well, Y/N?”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” you clasped your palms together with nerves.

The family talked among themselves for the rest of the hour about national affairs and other matters you didn’t understand, so you ended up drifting into your own thoughts while you stood several feet behind the prince’s chair. You were astounded at all you had discovered about him in just the few months of training you had done, and the one day of actually knowing him personally. The man you had always perceived as cold and off-putting liked his coffee in a very particular way– so sweet it could hardly still be called coffee– and kept his own vinyls of big band music. He was surprisingly sweet and just wanted to be called by his first name, despite your status forbidding that. You almost wanted to cry at just how ignorant you were before. How could you have served the royal family for so long and still not known him?

“I’d like to go for a walk now,” the prince announced, standing and throwing his sports jacket over one arm. You bowed to the king and queen and followed him out to the courtyard. The two of you began your stroll through the royal arboretum, you offering to carry his sports jacket beneath the leafy shade offered by the rows of trees, and he only gave in after you insisted. “You know, Richard would be giving me a lecture about every single tree we passed.”

You gave him a sad smile. “Well,” you began, pointing to a mature oak just ahead on the path. “I fell out of that tree while I was playing with one of my servant friends when I was ten. I broke my arm and Lady Margaret still hasn’t let me live it down.”

The prince let out a hearty laugh that you found yourself wishing you could hear all the time. “So you’ve been here for that long?”

You tilted your head in thought. “I suppose, Your Highness. It’s odd now that I think about it.”

He shook his head, apparently not comprehending. “What a life. I couldn’t imagine…” He trailed off.

“Don’t misunderstand, Your Highness, I enjoy serving here,” you declared. The pang of loneliness and homesickness in your chest was painful, but who were you to complain to a prince?

He remained silent and you could tell he was lost in thought. His hands were tucked in his pockets with each thumb sticking out, like they always did when he was dazed. Maybe you had studied him more than you thought. The two of you walked the path full circle, both wandering through your own thoughts, and arrived back at the start before you realized that time had passed.

The prince cleared his throat and took his jacket from your arms. “I think I’ll go to my study now, as I do believe I have some work I need to finish. I’ll meet you back in my room… after dinner?” He suggested. You nodded and bowed to his retreating figure. As you walked back to your own room for some pleasure reading, you wondered if the heat on your face was from the afternoon sun or the thought of undressing the prince later on.

“Come in,” Prince Wonwoo called to you on the other side of the door for the second time that day, and you were no less nervous than before. You twisted the gold knob and found him lounging in the armchair next to his bed, feet crossed and propped up on the coffee table, with a novel in his hands. He shut the book decidedly and tossed it on the table, walking over to stand in front of his mirror, while you set your empty laundry basket on the end of his bed. He watched the news on his huge television while you undid his cufflinks and the buttons on his dress shirt before tossing it in the basket.

“I found something rather peculiar in my study today,” he smirked, unfastening his Rolex and handing it to you.

“Did I not dust well enough?” You asked.

“No, no,” he chuckled. “There was a record that I haven’t listened to in ages still spinning on my player.”

“I’m so sorry, Your Highness, that was my mistake,” you gasped. “I should have never touched it–”

“You like Perry Como?” He said, barely audible. You stared at him in absolute awe, confused and amused all at the same time.

“Quite a lot,” you admitted while polishing the face of his Rolex with your skirt.

“Excellent.”

He pulled the cotton shirt underneath off and discarded it, too, before handing you his belt to put alongside his cufflinks in the closet. You did just that while he stripped entirely and you heard him start his shower. You left with the laundry basket on your hip, the tones of the prince’s singing following you into the large hallway; you wouldn’t dare tell anyone, but you lingered outside the door just a little while to listen.

Months went on like this, with you bringing breakfast and dressing him every morning, while you did chores or errands for him throughout the day. He finally convinced you to call him Wonwoo (This stays exclusively between us, you threatened), and he confided in you about a surprising number of things. He complained that you were too reserved around him, but you didn’t dare to become more casual with him in fear of being improper or, even worse, falling in love with him. You began being rather short in your conversations and limited your time with him.

One night, you entered to start his regular routine to find him surrounded by papers, bottles of expensive whiskey, and rings of condensation from him moving his glass around. You sighed and began to organize the papers on the table. “Rough day?”

Half of his face was covered with one of his large hands while the other held a half-empty glass. From what you could see, he had a bitter smile on his face and his cheeks were aflame with the obvious rash of drunkenness. Wonwoo didn’t answer you, which was really all the answer you needed. You helped him stand and it took all the strength you had to not laugh at his hiccups, though a large part of you was sad that he had drank himself into this state. Nervous hands stripped his top half, while his miserable head was slung over your shoulder.

“I– I hate when they do… that,” he slurred into your ear. Both of you almost toppled over when you tried to get him step out of his slacks, but you steadied him and practically carried him over to his bed, sliding his pajama shirt over his arms and working on its buttons.

“What do you hate, Wonwoo?”

He laughed. It was a pitiful, lonely laugh that made you feel worse than if he was sobbing. “I hate when they say– they say that I’m s’pposed to marry some random girl,” he hiccuped again. “Their efforts are… use– useless,” he muttered, looking over your shoulder to some dejected place.

“It’ll be alright, Wonwoo,” you tried to comfort him, giving up on the idea of getting him in pajama bottoms and simply pressing his shoulders so that he would lie down. You pulled the covers up to his neck and found that his glazed-over eyes were looking at your face again.

“No, no it won’t,” he whispered. His eyes fluttered until they were barely open.

“I don’t see why not,” you consoled him while gathering his clothes and throwing them into your basket. 

“It’s because I…” he shook his head. “It’s awful, Y/N. Just awful.”

You sighed and put the basket down on the carpet before slowly sitting on the side of his bed. “What’s awful?”

“It hurts loving you this much,” he groaned. His eyes were closed. Your heart fell to the floor.

“You don’t mean that,” your voice broke and you were thankful he couldn’t see the tears fall down your face and onto his duvet. He had certainly passed out, while you felt your chest could explode with admiration and anguish. You reached a hand out and stroked his cheek. “Wonwoo, darling…You let it happen.” The sleeves of your dress dabbed away your incessant tears. “You let the stars get in your eyes.”

You took the laundry basket and finally left. Every time you tried to sleep that night, you saw his face and were jolted awake.

Your steps were horribly slow up to his room the next morning: you even considered feigning illness and sending a butler up there for him, but you didn’t want to embarrass him by exposing his hangover. So you took the grim march with the tray that held his breakfast (including ice water and aspirin, the medicine you had sneaked out of the infirmary) and hoped that your exhaustion wasn’t painfully obvious.

You knocked on the door and weakly called out, “Prince Wonwoo?” There was no answer and after waiting several seconds, you pushed the door open and walked in anyway. You were surprised to find him fully dressed, sitting in his regular armchair, with the drapes still closed. The only light in the room came from his bedside lamp. You kicked the door closed and melted at his sorrowful gaze, his hands pressed together in front of his mouth, and his tall frame slouched in the chair. Dark circles lined his eyes, and there was a definitive crease in his forehead, probably from his headache. He said nothing as you walked over and put the tray on the coffee table.

All you could think to do was crouch beside him and wrap your arms around his shoulders, so you did just that. He exhaled deeply and stood to hug you back, his arms firm around your waist and your head tucked under his chin.

“I really did say it, then,” he mumbled, to which you simply squeezed him tighter. 

“One of us had to, I suppose,” you tittered, leaning back so you could see his face. You used the pad of your thumb to swipe away the one tear that escaped his eye. “You know this is no good, Wonwoo.”

He shook his head slowly, pursing his lips. “Say it.”

“What?”

“Say you love me too. I’m fully aware this is in no way easy for you, but I can’t imagine that you could look me in the eyes in this exact moment and tell me you don’t feel this.”

You sighed in disbelief and a stinging adoration for the man who still had his arms locked around your waist. The dull light of the room highlighted the tired features of his face, but you still thought he looked like pure art. Thoughts of his dismal state the previous night in contrast to his lighthearted personality in the day raced across your mind. Did he even know what he was getting himself in to? Could you stop him from barreling down a road of uncertainty even if he did know?

“Wonwoo, I love you more than you’ll ever know,” you sniffled. “That’s why I can’t let you–”

His large hands held each side of your face and instantly his soft lips were pressed to yours. You took in the smell of his musky cologne and the way your fingertips felt clutching his sides. One of his hands wandered to the nape of your neck and cradled your head.

Wonwoo broke away with the most dazzling smile you had ever seen. “I’m the prince. I’m fairly sure I’m the one who makes the decisions.”

“Lady Margaret is going to give me an earful about this.”


	2. Vitriolic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Good things are always tragically fleeting. In a castle embroiled in conflict, deceit, and facade, Prince Wonwoo must hold on tightly to things most beloved to him as outside pressures seek to destroy him. (Prince!Wonwoo x Servant!Reader)

“You know, contrary to popular belief, I’m perfectly capable of doing this myself,” Wonwoo chortled, attempting to shake your hands off while you adjusted his tie.

“I am paid by the taxes of the people of this nation to ensure you look professional, and I intend to do my job properly,” you said smugly. Wonwoo kept playfully blowing air in your face to get you to step away, but you refused, tightening his tie in retaliation while he pretended to choke. “Besides, do you really want me to go away?”

“Absolutely not,” he replied immediately. “I would kiss you right now but the last time I did so without asking, you punched me.”

“First of all, it’s rude to kiss a woman without asking, and second of all, if you begin kissing me whenever you feel like it then we’ll eventually be caught.”

He huffed. “Here I was thinking the fairer sex liked it when men were spontaneous.”

You thought back to the morning seven months ago when a hungover prince confessed to you in his dark bedroom, the smell of mouthwash just barely covering up the the alcohol on his breath. You had tried then to resist him. In fact, a part of you tried to resist him every day. But one pleading look from your Prince Charming had you in a puddle, unfortunately, and keeping him under control was a battle.

“Well, you’re not exactly some regular man, now are you, Prince Wonwoo?”

He smirked at you, the same kind that appeared when he was obviously winning an argument in parliament or making some witty joke at a dinner. “No, and you would do well to remember that, Ms. Y/N.” His tall frame bent a little so he could wink at you at your eye level.

“Of course, Your Highness,” you teased, beginning to work on his cufflinks.

He sighed. “Forgive me for changing the subject, but have you ever loved someone who wasn’t royalty?”

You froze, curious as to why he would ask such a thing. “Why?”

He looked past your shoulder and out the window, from which one could see one of the palace’s expansive botanical gardens and the hands who worked on them around the clock. “Oh, I was just thinking in a meeting the other day that our staff has plenty of handsome young butlers, and you’re an elegant woman, so why wouldn’t you have?”

You grinned at the fact that he thought about you instead of the important topics of his daily meetings. “I’ve always been too busy, Wonwoo. You should know that.”

His warm eyes found yours again, and a smile that scrunched up his nose appeared on his face. You were done with his cufflinks, so he threw his arms out in front of him to straighten his sleeves, and he cheekily locked your waist in with his forearms. “That was a good answer. Ms. Y/N, may I kiss you?” He whispered.

You glanced at his bedroom door in doubt for a moment, but soon caved. “You may.”

Soft, eager lips met yours and you felt Wonwoo’s strong arms hug you tighter. He tasted like the mint toothpaste he had used just minutes prior and smelled of the fresh linens you pressed every day. When he finally let you go, he was satisfied to see you blushing and breathless. He laid his head on your shoulder, his hands rubbing the sides of your arms, and murmured into your ear. “I’m so grateful for you.”

You smiled and let yourself hug his firm middle momentarily. “Your driver is waiting.” You pushed him toward the coffee table, where his briefcase and stacks of papers laid.

He shoved the documents into the briefcase before snapping it closed and checking his watch. “It’s my understanding that you’ll be with Lady Margaret soon, planning Father’s birthday celebration. Try not to lose your mind,” he jeered, pecking your forehead on his way out.

“Have a good day, Your Highness,” you called, collecting his breakfast dishes.

Wonwoo couldn’t resist sticking his head back in the door. “Love you.”

You could only roll your eyes at him. “Go on, Your Highness.”

The door clicked closed, and you could hear a frustrated Wonwoo sigh while pacing down the hall. He must have thought you truly cold, with unreturned displays and words of affection every day, but you were doing what you thought was best for him. Your heart swelled at the mere thought of Wonwoo but you had an aching dread at the back of your mind, like you were leaning over a ledge that you could be shoved off of at anytime. The prince’s smile, however, made you forget how dangerous it was to teeter over the edge.

So you made your way out of the comfortable albeit lavish room with your laundry basket, greeting some maids who walked past and descending the stairs carefully. You were not necessarily thrilled to see Lady Margaret, who still chided you every time you saw her despite no longer being a maid under her rule. She always interacted with you as though she knew something you didn’t, and with her terrifying spectrum of information and unsettling sense of curiosity, you were afraid she just might. The fresh scent of the basement laundry helped push away those frightful speculations and you dropped off your basket with a peculiar spring in your step, actually excited to see the queen’s warm face in the meeting.

Wonwoo’s mother was just as she appeared to the public: inviting and kind. She was always benevolent to you, especially when Lady Margaret had you under fire or the king was in a particularly sour mood. Thankfully, the queen had no idea how much you ravished Wonwoo in the confines of his living quarters or how often you imagined capturing his perfectly arched cupid’s bow in a kiss in the dining room. The thought of your little scandal sent a tingle up your spine that you had to shake off before you entered the queen’s drawing room.

“Your Majesty,” you smiled to her, bowing deeply before turning to Lady Margaret and doing the same. Your bodice suddenly felt too tight in the presence of two powerful women, one of whom you respected and the other being the bane of your existence at times. The queen was in a light blue gown that was peaceful-looking, like her personality, and sitting on a sofa adjacent to the armchair Lady Margaret was propped in. You politely refused the queen’s offer for tea and sank into another armchair, with the queen across from you and Lady Margaret to your left.

“Wonderful to have you, Ms. Y/N,” the queen sang. You had stayed up much of the night, lounging with Wonwoo in his study while he read to you, so her voice had a ring that yours did not.

“Thank you for valuing my opinion so much as to have me here,” you nodded to her gratefully. You would have preferred to be in the basement, realigning the medals on Wonwoo’s officer’s coat instead of suffering through the dismal presence of Lady Margaret, but it was still a considerate gesture for the queen to invite you. You leaned back in your chair slightly, prepared to be silent for the rest of the time, as you knew how seriously Lady Margaret took preparing the royal balls.

“Your Majesty, I have prepared the menu and guest list,” she asserted, handing the queen a folder that she proceeded to flip through. “I have informed the kitchen staff and told them to ask Lady Mina if they require more supplies–”

“Just a moment, Margaret,” the queen interjected, her wide eyes stuck to a spot on a page. “I thought we agreed that we were not inviting the prime minister until he passed the latest motion in Parliament.”

“Ah, yes, Your Majesty,” the noblewoman smirked, a hint of annoyance in the way her lips curled, “Prime Minister Han is on the list because of his daughter, Jaehwa,” she explained. You subconsciously gripped the end of the arm rest on the chair, your nails leaving crescents in the cushions. “I believe she and the prince are quite taken with each other.”

The queen brought her thin fingers up to cradle her chin in thought. Her eyes slid from searching Lady Margaret’s face to yours. “Y/N, has Wonwoo mentioned anything about this to you?”

You swallowed to ease the painful dryness in your throat and slowly shook your head. Your fingers were tightly intertwined over your knee, and the sun coming in through the window felt too hot on your neck. “His Highness hasn’t mentioned Ms. Han to me,” you answered flatly.

The queen hummed in understanding, thankfully not noticing your tense attitude. Was Lady Margaret doing this on purpose? Did she know?

“Forgive me, then. His Highness’s driver told me they had eaten together recently. He must have been mistaken,” Lady Margaret commented offhandedly, delicately picking up her teacup. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat while the queen switched to discussing the menu, during which you chased your thoughts elsewhere.

A part of you was not at all shocked. Prince Wonwoo being close– even intimate (you accidentally shivered at the concept)– with the prime minister’s daughter was excellent politics. The other part of your being, the one with unfortunate human emotion, was devastated. Wonwoo truly was playing with you, and you had fallen for it. The stories of love overcoming all odds and the meek coming out triumphant, the very books that lined the walls of the study, were bitter fantasies and you knew it. Your jaw was locked and you had to stare at the ceiling covered in paintings to keep acrid tears from spilling over.

Were you overreacting about the two eating together? It must have been personal considering you had never seen an appointment for it on his schedule. Prince Wonwoo had at least one private luncheon with another woman– the prime minister’s daughter, at that. You wanted to laugh and scream at the same time. How could you be so ignorant of–

“Y/N?” The queen repeated your name. It had taken you several seconds to register that she had been talking to you at all.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty. Yes?”

“I was wondering if you would like to be on the kitchen staff for the event or a guest.” She smiled at you, a thoughtful, gentle gesture that eased you just a bit. “I’m aware that they raise wages when our staff work the events, but I would also entertain the idea of you as a guest. You’ve been so competent in your new position that it only feels right.”

You desperately hoped the fake smile on your face was convincing enough for the woman whose son had possibly betrayed you. “Thank you kindly for the offer. I would prefer to work that night, Your Majesty. I’m an ardent believer that a bit of money here and there has never hurt anyone.” You would have loved to attend the ball in a stunning gown surrounded by the uppermost people in the nation, but you thought of Han Jaehwa in a dress, hanging off of Wonwoo’s arm and suddenly your skin was crawling.

The queen grinned. “I admire your work ethic. I think that’s all I have for you, if you wish to leave.”

You stood up and bowed to each woman separately. Lady Margaret’s piercing eyes scanned you over the brim of her teacup. You ignored her and walked out, angry, disappointed, but most of all, lost.

“Y/N, are you in here?” Wonwoo’s resonating voice rang as he stepped through his bedroom door. You continued silently hanging up his slacks, putting each pair exactly an inch apart, the way he preferred. The simple action reminded you of how you were merely a servant to him. You bit your lip harshly.

“Ah! There you are,” Wonwoo stopped at the door frame of his closet, his tie loosened and the top two buttons of his maroon shirt undone. He threw open his arms and stepped towards you but you planted a flat hand onto his chest.

“Not feeling well,” you murmured, ducking under his arm and escaping into his bedroom, not once making eye contact. He followed you with a furrowed brow.

“You’re sick? Then go rest, darling, I can take care of all this,” he suggested, trying to take a handful of his ties away from you. Your fingers were gripping them so tightly that you were wrinkling the fabric.

“I’ll put these away and go,” you snapped. You whipped open a drawer on his wide dresser and laid them flat, smoothing out the wrinkles you left. He had the nerve to call you darling. The concerned prince crouched beside you, searching the profile of your face for answers. The dorsum of his hand slowly pressed to your forehead.

“I don’t think you have a fever. Are you nauseous?”

“Yeah, nauseous,” you recoiled from his hand like he had scorched you. Light from the lamp illuminated his hurt expression, but you were too focused on grabbing your laundry basket and leaving.

“Y/N, let me take you to the palace physician,” he said with a certain urgency in his voice. You shook your head vehemently. Wonwoo grabbed your shoulders, making you properly face him for the first time that evening. His eyes bored into yours, and you could only hold your gaze for a few seconds, fearing you would cry. “Y/N, look at me.”

“I have to go to the servants’s meeting for the ball,” you claimed dejectedly. There technically was one, but it was an hour away. You stepped away from him, flinging the door open. “Goodnight, Your Highness.”

You heard no response and thanked your lucky stars that no other servants were usually in that wing at that time of night, because unwanted tears streamed down your face uncontrollably. 

The meeting was in the basement kitchens, the rowdy servants laughing and joking before the head servant, the man just below Lady Margaret, arrived. You had stopped by your room to dry your tears and try to breathe normally again. Being Prince Wonwoo’s personal assistant made it difficult to see your old friends, so a part of you was excited to be with them again, even if it did mean tedious work.

“Y/N!” Your close friend, Seonghee, waved you over to a crowded table in the packed servants’s dining room. You mustered up a smile for her and wrapped your arms around her shoulders.

“Hey!” You giggled, squeezing into a seat beside her. To your right was Mingyu, a butler who was hired several years after you and who you were fairly certain you remembered training. “Hello, Mingyu, long time no see.”

“Hi, Y/N,” he grinned. His smile exposed his charming canines and while he was still in his black vest and white dress shirt from a long day of work, you understood why some of the maids were constantly gushing about him. “It’s good to have you working with us again, even if it is temporary.”

“It feels good to be back!” You chimed. You weren’t sure if you were trying to satisfy Mingyu or just trying to convince yourself that your exquisite pain had a silver lining. A part of you missed when life was this simple.

The meeting went by without incident, though Mingyu kept making jokes about the head servant in your ear, and you kept slapping your hand over your mouth to keep from giggling. You and Seonghee walked back to the female dorms together, catching up and lightheartedly chatting.

“Mingyu seems to really like you,” she teased, poking your sides. You shook your head sadly. The fact that you couldn’t reveal the intricacies of yours and the prince’s relationship to anyone, even a girl you would consider your best friend, made the agony much worse. 

“I don’t think so. Besides, we all know I don’t have time for that kind of thing,” you dismissed her. The pair of you reached her room and she gave you a pleasant goodbye, but the walk to your end of the hall was lonely. You were so zoned out that you wouldn’t have noticed the box in front of the door if you hadn’t kicked it over. Curious, you reached down and picked it up.

“Antiemetics,” you whispered to yourself, turning the box of anti-nausea medication over in your hands. The prince must have sneaked over here while we were all downstairs.

Resentful, you walked all the way back across the palace and left the unopened package outside his door.

As if the events of the previous day weren’t enough, you awoke from your dreamless sleep the next morning with an irritated throat and a stuffy nose, accompanied by a horrendous cough. Karma. You stumbled to the phone on your vanity and rang Mingyu’s room.

“Hello?” A groggy voice answered, a twinge of annoyance present.

“Sorry Mingyu, it’s Y/N. If you don’t mind, I need you or one of the other senior butlers to attend to the prince today. If you can’t tell, I’m sick.”

“Oh, sure,” he agreed. His surprise was evident, and you felt guilty for putting such pressure on him, because you had never shirked your job before. You were partially grateful not to have to see Wonwoo, but also disdainful at the squeezing sensation in your lungs and the unbelievable pressure in your head. “What exactly am I supposed to do?”

You gave him the details of dressing the prince, how he liked his coffee, and ignored the scratching in your throat with each word. “Thanks again, Mingyu.”

“Not a problem,” he assured you. “Feel better, Y/N.”

You trudged back over to your bed and sank into your covers again. Wonwoo kept appearing in your dreams, shaking you and yelling things you couldn’t understand, and tears slid down your face while you slept. You slept well into the afternoon, tossing and turning all the while.

What finally woke you up was Seonghee sinking into the side of your mattress. She set a cup of chamomile tea on your nightstand and offered you up a decongestant to take.

“You’re too kind. I don’t want you to get sick,” you sighed, gulping down the pill with tea.

“You never get sick, so I wanted to come check on you myself.” She smiled at you, despite your hair being a mess and your eyes swollen from exhaustion and, unbeknownst to her, crying. “I had to lead the kitchen maid team without you!”

“Sorry,” you laughed weakly. 

The door creaked open, and a disheveled Mingyu with an apron still tied around his waist stepped in. He nodded to Seonghee and plopped down in the armchair just behind her. He looked more exhausted than you, with his black hair in all different directions and what looked to be flour on his cheeks. “Before either of you decide to have a go at me, we were low on kitchen staff so butler Mingyu became assistant chef Mingyu.”

You and Seonghee laughed in understanding, the other girl swiping the dust off Mingyu’s face. You shook your head and said, “Thanks for this morning, Mingyu. I really appreciate it.”

“You better have! I’m not ever doing it again, either,” he huffed, stretching out his long legs to rest on the edge of your bed.

You cocked your head, eyes widening. “Sorry, I didn’t realize how hard it might be for someone who’s never done it–”

“No, no, love, it was the prince who was the problem,” he growled, doing a double take to make sure your door was locked and lowering his voice. “Nothing I did was right for him. He seemed annoyed at me the entire time! I swear I did my best, Y/N,” he grumbled. Your jaw dropped.

“I’m sure you did fine, Gyu,” you reassured him while trying to hide your confusion. “Perhaps he was just in a mood.”

He shook his head, continuing to grouse to himself while he checked his watch. “I have to go, ladies. See you, Seonghee, and if you’re not better by tomorrow, Y/N, would you mind if I had a replacement?”

“Not at all,” you coughed, waving to him as he left. 

As soon as the door clicked, Seonghee whipped around and whispered, “Oh my word, Y/N! What if the prince likes you? That would explain why he was upset with Mingyu! You and Prince Wonwoo do spend a lot of time together…” You looked down at your hands, your vision unexpectedly blurred. You didn’t even realize you were crying until you heard Seonghee’s panicked voice. “What did I say? Y/N, what’s wrong?”

“I can’t tell you,” you croaked. Your chest was wracked with silent sobs and you covered your mouth stubbornly so none could escape.

“Yes, you can,” she cooed, taking your free hand in her soft fingers. “Y/N, you can tell me anything.”

“I– you don’t understand,” you sniveled, squeezing your eyes shut.

“Help me understand, doll,” she pleaded with you, swiping your left cheek with her thumb.

“I love him, Seonghee,” you admitted, your voice barely audible. Her eyes widened but she held your hand and kept listening. “And– I just thought he might love me too– he said so for goodness’s sake– but I think he’s seeing the prime minister’s daughter,” you whimpered. Saying it aloud only made you cry harder. Seonghee said nothing but took you in her arms and rocked you back and forth, like you were a child, not a maid-turned-assistant who had her heart broken by the future leader of the nation.

“I am so sorry,” she whispered after several moments, pulling back to look you in the face properly. “You’ll be okay, Y/N. You’re strong.”

“I don’t think I can stay here,” you blubbered. “Not after all this. After the ball, I think I’m going to leave. I have to leave, Seonghee, it’s too painful.”

She frowned. “I understand. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do to help,” she rubbed soothing circles in your shoulders with her thumbs. “Do you want anything to eat?”

“I’m alright,” you replied shakily. “You can leave, Seonghee. I’m sorry you had to see that.”

She gave you a sympathetic smile. “What are friends for? I’ll go so you can rest up some more. If you want food, medicine, tea, to talk, just ring me or Mingyu.”

“Seonghee?”

“Yes?”

“Could you lock the door when you leave? I don’t want any… unexpected visitors.”

It wasn’t until the following Friday, the day before the ball, that you were well enough to get up and walk around without extreme dizziness. You finally emerged from your room in the afternoon, so you didn’t bother calling Mingyu to relieve one of the butlers, despite being physically capable of attending to the prince that night. Seonghee graciously let you help her in the kitchens with food preparations for dinner, along with the insane number of finger foods needed for the ball. While to other servants left to serve what you had just made, you and Seonghee sat where you had at the meeting a week earlier.

“I know you probably want me to forget about it, but I did some snooping around for you,” she muttered, blowing over the surface of her tea. “About Jaehwa, I mean.” You hid your minor frustration that she was bringing up the woman Wonwoo played you with, but you knew she did it with good intentions. “I asked some of the higher-ups– nonchalantly– about them. They said the two have lunch together at least once a week, and that Jaehwa does seem interested in him.”

Your lips curled downward, then up again, as anger was replaced by a faint sense of jealousy and disbelief. “Thanks for telling me, at least.”

“I can’t stand him,” Seonghee groaned. “Any one of the butlers would kill to have you,” she exclaimed, slamming her cup back on its saucer.

But I don’t want the butlers, you thought woefully. I want the man whose eyes become even more beautiful crescent moons in the sunlight, whose nose scrunches up when he laughs, whose smile makes me feel like we could work. I want the man who I thought loved me.

“Thanks, Seonghee,” you said insecurely. “I think I’m going to go up to bed. See you bright and early for preparations,” you winked, pushing your chair back in. You walked the long way back to your room, even roaming dangerously close to the wing of the royals’s rooms. It just felt pleasant to stroll the palace again, and you ignored the acute pain in your chest at the thought that it was one of the last times you would do so.

You rounded a corner and stumbled across the queen, followed by her lady in waiting. You quickly bowed, stunned to see her after so long.

“Ms. Y/N,” she sang. “I heard word that you were under the weather. It’s fantastic to see you doing well.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” you beamed, giving her a half-bow. “Yes, I’m much better.”

“Well, thank goodness,” she breathed. “The prince has been asking about you constantly. It must have been uncomfortable without his assistant.”

Your smile faltered. One hand wrung out the fingers of the other in sudden panic. “Indeed. I’m sorry to have been an inconvenience.”

“Not at all,” she twinkled. “I don’t want to overexert you, so I’ll just bid you goodnight. I’m very excited for the ball.”

“We’re doing our best for it. Goodnight, Your Majesty.”

“It’s show time,” Mingyu grinned as you and Seonghee clasped the buttons on his black tailcoat and loaded up his silver tray. Seonghee frantically untied the crisp white apron around the black skirt of your dress, throwing it over a nearby chair. It had been so long since you had served at a meal, much less a party, that you felt odd balancing the platter of tall champagne glasses. You nearly panicked when Mingyu told you that the staff was low on servers, so you would have to work the floor. However, Mingyu’s excitement helped you feel at ease.

“The two of you look great, but I can’t say I wish I was a server,” Seonghee quipped, untying her own apron and falling onto a wooden stool after a long day of cooking. “Good luck.”

You stood side-by-side with Mingyu, waiting for the head servant to swing open the doors and unleash the line of severs upon the crowd that filled the dance hall, which was bustling with music and banter. Finally, the doors were opened and you traversed the cliques of people, sweetly offering drinks and making light conversation with the party goers. You rubbed shoulders with politicians, businessmen, and artists, all of whom almost made you forget your anxieties.

“Excuse me,” a sugarcoated voice called from behind you, and you turned in your short heels to find anxiety herself staring back at you. Han Jaehwa, in a knee-length red flared dress that put the simple servant’s ensemble you were required to wear to shame. Opposite her was her stocky, cunning father, the prime minister himself.

Between them was Wonwoo.

“Three champagnes, if you don’t mind,” she continued, plucking the last drinks off your tray herself. Jaehwa was, of course, beautiful, but you were dazed by the man next to her who was practically gawking at you. You had entirely avoided Wonwoo for a week, but all his questions and apparent frustration seemed trapped in his throat.

It was strange seeing what Lady Margaret and Seonghee suspected in front of your eyes. The scenario was as plain as day, like you were in a storybook with an end that could be found with a flip of a page. You noticed the obvious dark circles lining Wonwoo’s usually bright eyes, but you felt no remorse. You did, however, suddenly feel overwhelmed and held your now-empty tray to your chest before bowing and pacing away. You threw the tray down in the kitchens when Seonghee tried to fill it up again and stormed out to the empty balcony, where your only company would be the stars.

Your hands pressed to the cool stone railing in an attempt to get a grip on your overflowing emotions. Of course it was her and not you. You weren’t Cinderella, Wonwoo was no Prince Charming, and there was no fairy godmother to come save you from yourself. Midnight had already come and gone despite the moon having just risen. I was so stupid.

“There you are.”

The sound of oxfords flying across cobblestone rang throughout the otherwise silent evening. Your heart went from drumming against your ribs in rage to stopping entirely at the sound of his voice. Before you knew what you were doing, you had turned around to face the one person you wanted to see the most– and least.

He stopped just a foot ahead of you, looking you up and down much like Jaehwa had, but with concern, not scrutiny. You felt yourself bubbling with vexation.

“Please tell me what’s happened with you,” he breathed. His voice nearly got carried away by the wind.

You scoffed. “Get away from me, Jeon Wonwoo.” He tried to take your wrist, but you snatched it away from him. “Leave!”

“Not until you tell me where on earth you’ve been for the past week. Not until you tell me you’re alright,” he yelled. “You didn’t accept the medication, you didn’t come out of your room for a week, hell, you locked the door. I have never been so worried in my life!”

“As if,” you rebuffed him. “What was there to miss? All you really need is in there,” you hissed, gesturing to the hall where Jaehwa was surely waiting.

His hands dropped from his hips and his shoulders sagged beneath his navy blue suit. “Her?”

“Yes, her! Why didn’t you tell me you were through with me? How dare you make a mockery of me like this? Do you know what it was like for Lady Margaret to offhandedly tell me you were seeing another woman?” The tears flowed freely. “Just go! I’ll leave for good, you’ll never have to see me again, since you obviously couldn’t care less.”

He searched your face, his mouth mimicking words, but no sounds came from him. Instead, he stepped forward and pulled your crumbling frame into his chest. You wanted to push him away, but you didn’t have the strength.

“I love you,” he whispered above your crying. “I know you don’t believe me right now but nothing you said is true.” He ran his fingers through your windswept locks, not minding the makeup and tears you were smearing his shirt with. “Jaehwa is nothing like you.”

You wanted so badly to give him some snappy retort, but you were choking on your own ugly sobs.

“Y/N, I know what the servants have been saying. I do have lunch with her when the prime minister insists. Yes, my parents are pushing me toward her.” He squeezed you tighter when your crying got louder. “But I love you, not her. It’s you, darling. You have no idea how much I’ve worried over the past week.”

“Wonwoo,” you wailed, gripping the back of his jacket.

“I know,” he chuckled painfully. “I told you this wouldn’t be easy for us. But I’ve never tried more adamantly at anything in my life.”

You finally raised your head. “I’m so sorry.”

He laughed. His nose scrunched up and his strong arms gripped your waist comfortingly, making you realize he was home, and that leaving home would be more than you could handle. “You know what would be the best apology?”

You pouted. “What, Wonwoo?”

“Marrying me.”


End file.
